Archive of Our Own

Daniel - and his team - would be onboard for three days to be briefed on the findings of those in Clark’s command and to discuss strategy. It would be tedious work. There would be compromises. But right now, Clark’s gaze was fixed on Daniel’s ass, always nice, but currently highlighted by the harness he wore while transferring from his heli-taxi through the skylight-style opening above his husband. 

Above his husband and a crowd of others.  When Daniel’s feet touched metal, and he was again held alight by his own musculature, their eyes found each other’s, and the tension left the corners of their mouths. They were well practiced in the most efficient of nonverbal cues.

IloveyousomuchI’vemissedyousomuchI’msogladyou’resafe.

Clark knew well enough to excuse himself from a lead role the small operation bringing this team onboard, and he’d taken a backseat to the nervous Loudermilk’s orchestration. Now with the technical feat of landing a helicopter on an airship (eyeroll) over, Clark pushed past Cary, and in the bustle of bodies of the Strategy team finding their feet, he beelined to his husband. You know, to help with the harness and his bag. Clark brought himself square with Daniel. After a beat, he arced his body over the shorter man’s, reaching a hand behind his back.  The gesture was clearly helpful, mechanical to anyone nearby, but with Daniel’s back out of view of the crush of humanity around them, Clark drew a line with two fingers from the midline of Daniel’s thigh, up the rear seam of his slacks. Slowly, with delicious pressure, until Daniel jolted hearing the clip of his rig and feeling his harness fall to his ankles. Had he just been undressed in public?

Clark drew back, a cocked eyebrow and half smile, then turned on his heel, and they shuffled off to an endless afternoon of meetings.

A briefing with Farouk. The research team. The Vermillion and Ptonomy. Endless discussions of strategy; what they’d attempted; what remained to try; reminders regarding the mission. Budget sheets. Key performance indicators. 

Daniel normally loved it - carefully crafting a plan out of chaos. But it had been months since he’d been in Clark’s orbit, and Clark was enjoying making their proximity even more painful than the absence they had just experienced. As they sat with Sydney over tea, Clark licked the rim of the cup and then his lips slowly after every sip, holding eye contact. Leaving that room for the next, Clark stooped behind Daniel’s ear to growl a message.

“I forgot to wear underwear today.”

Sitting around the conference table with all stakeholders, Clark’s foot ended up in Daniel’s lap. He’d slipped off his shoe to tease the man in the middle of a presentation regarding the cost benefit analysis of sustaining the mission, toes finding cock. Ever the professional, Daniel soldiered on, despite his erection.

Eventually this long conversation at the end of the longer day was over, and Daniel was left at the table with Clark, thankfully re-shod, and Cary excitedly sharing some more thoughts regarding technological solutions to their very wooly problem. Daniel made no move to leave; standing was out of the question.

Clark broke in, “Cary, I believe we have a briefing regarding mapping after breakfast tomorrow; could you check on the GIS dashboards tonight, please?” And Cary bustled off into the evening.

Clark, ever fiddling with the head of his cane, positioned it securely and rose slowly, exhaling loudly after sitting so long. Rounding the table, he offered Daniel his free hand.

“Dinner?”

“Let’s go to bed.”

They dropped hands leaving the room, and Daniel fell into step behind Clark in the narrow hallways of the airship. Clark took long, uneven, echoing strides which contrasted with the many graceful, small steps of his partner. Reaching his bedroom door, Clark pushed in, acting as a human doorstop Daniel had to squeeze past. Daniel palmed Clark’s shoulder, tracing a broad line from there to his belt buckle as he passed. He was not above the game, letting his arm linger behind him as he entered the room, cupping the growth he found below that belt. 

As his hand left Clark’s hip, Daniel heard his cane drop to the floor and fixed his eyes on it clattering to a stop, Clark catching his forearm. Suddenly his fingers were intertwined with his partner’s, as Clark drew his arm through the full circular range of motion, pinning their clasped hands between Daniel’s shoulder blades. With a long stride forward, Clark could feel Daniel’s shoulder blades like wings against his chest.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Daniel was locked, frozen. “Yes, sir,” he exhaled.

Clark’s free hand serpentined around Daniel’s hips to find and make short work of his belt, button, and zipper. He reached into his trousers, and coaxed Daniel through his boxer briefs. He was only the width of his partner separated from the mechanics of pleasuring himself, an act repeated often in this room, imagining the man he held now.

Clark’s physical response was clearly brushing against Daniel’s lower back, and both men moaned in time with Clark’s movements. Clark inhaled deeply the long-missed spicy citrus scent of Daniel’s pomade, his nose ruffling through his hair.

Distracted by the delicate work of his left hand, Clark released tension on the right and Daniel pounced with his newfound freedom. Whipping around on the balls of his feet, he gripped Clark’s lapels, lifted up, and snapped his jacket down, trapping the man’s arms. 

Palms to chest, he guided Clark to sit on the bed and began to work on his shirt buttons. Fiddling his way down the placket, Daniel kissed his favorite scar on Clark’s forehead, his missing eyebrow, the unmarked side of his nose, before Clark’s need drove his needy mouth upward to meet Daniel’s. Tongues explored teeth they knew well. Teeth explored lips they hungered for.

Distracted by his partner’s perfect mouth, Clark worked at extricating himself from his suit jacket’s grasp, noises of pleasure mixing with those of frustration. Daniel’s hands found Clark’s pectorals, followed by his mouth on one nipple then the next, tracing rapid circles, biting gently.

“This is not fair,” Clark said exasperated. Daniel drew back to make eye contact, taking in the picture of Clark shrugging, still trapped.

Palming the base of Clark’s skull, Daniel drew the man forward and peeled his suit jacket away from his forearms. “Darling, hush.” And then allowed him to rock backward onto the bed, following him down.

They worked at each other’s clothes, piling articles on the floor one by ones, lips never leaving each other. Finally, both exposed completely, Daniel placed pillow after pillow under Clark’s hips and lifted his long legs over his shoulders. Clark fumbled behind his head in the cabin bed’s drawer for a tube of lubrication, offering a filled palm to his husband.

Dipping two fingers into Clark’s cupped palm, Daniel then circled his entrance slowly. One finger first, beckoning slowly, then two. Clark’s groaned low and long. Then Daniel himself entered. Slowly, until their hips met completely. Daniel paused and Clark reached to interlace their fingers, a slippery mess making their fingers work that much harder to hold on.

Daniel drew back and drove in swiftly, with a smack. Again. And again. 

He reminded himself that they had three whole days together in order to relieve the guilt of how quickly he was close to the edge. And realized at the moment of extasy that the other man must have felt exactly the same, because when Daniel released inside Clark, Clark released on his own abdomen.

Daniel began to catch his breath, and then slowly slid back and brought Clark’s comfortingly heavy legs back to the mattress. Crawling forward, he licked broad, soft swathes with his tongue, savoring the taste so unique to his love. He continued his forward motion to find a place of rest, head on Clark’s chest, Clark’s chin in his hair.

They would eventually shower, but for the moment Daniel spoke of their life, their son, the moments missed. Although they skipped dinner, they went to bed sated.